


the course of drunks and men

by nayt0reprince



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Gen, March to Deliverance Zine 2018, Post-Canon, alcohol use, the dream team ya gotta love 'em
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 00:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayt0reprince/pseuds/nayt0reprince
Summary: at the end of all things, some things never change.





	the course of drunks and men

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! this fic is brought to you by [The March to Deliverance Zine,](https://twitter.com/MTD_Zine) where you can bear glorious witness to wonderful art/fic of lukas, python, and forsyth. everyone worked their butts off for this project, so please, check 'em out! please enjoy! and lemme know what you think!

Just gonna get some fresh air, Python said.

We’ll be back in a jiffy, Python said.

Forsyth, over months upon months of memorizing enemy patterns, mastering terrains, honing his military prowess, and progressing through the ranks to become the knight of his childhood dreams, still fell for this ruse every single insufferable time. He should have known. He should have _known_ ; Python loathed anything he considered to be overly-fancy, and Lukas, despite his noble demeanor, seemed to have some quiet agreement with the sentiment. Yet, as foolish as it seemed, Forsyth held hope that _today,_ of all days, Python’s slithering tongue would remain true to his surface-level intentions. 

So of _course_ they ditched the post-coronation ceremonies for the newfounded kingdom altogether and wandered into only the _classiest_ of taverns, hosting a variety of lovely features such as two passed-out drunkards tucked away in the cobweb-infested corner, rickety wooden floors coated with days-old hay, and chipped glass mugs overflowing with vomit-inducing ale. The gallant ballroom of Zofia’s Castle had quite the job cut out for it to meet up to such... high standards.

“Python.” Forsyth wrinkled his nose at the drink thrusted into his hands. “What are we doing here?”

“What’s it _look_ like we’re doing here?” Python wriggled his eyebrows before cocking his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing while he chugged his booze as if Mother Mila herself blessed the piss-water into something much more desirable. “C’mon, Fors, put two and two together.”

His far too often rehearsed lectures ( _we should head back, what would His Majesty say, this isn’t what renowned soldiers such as ourselves ought to do, we need to set an example_ ) were drowned by a slack-jawed choir belching out cheery tunes from yesteryear. Python sauntered into the slipshod circle, latching an arm around a fair-haired lady before joining in, his already-sluggish voice painfully off-key. 

Great. Grand. Wonderful. Forsyth let out a groan before a hand patted him gently on the shoulder.

“Let it be,” Lukas said, giving him a small, reassuring smile. He raised his glass and clinked it together with Forsyth’s. “We could use the breather, all things considered.”

Right. All things considered. All things _considered,_ it was a miracle this place was still allowed to serve anything aside from possible diseases lurking beneath the hay. Still, given the amount of patrons, the tavern - appropriately named The Three-Legged Mule - somehow managed to be borderline functional in spite of all its shortcomings. Forsyth sucked in a deep breath, licked his lips, and, with great trepidation, took a long, hard swig of his drink. Lukas watched him for a moment before following suit, eyes closed. 

Awful. Absolutely _awful._ Why did he do that. Whoever thought drinking was for fun clearly never had a day of _actual_ fun in their life. The bitterness seeped into Forsyth’s veins, bubbling and popping into a fizzing sensation that burned his cheeks red and peppered his skin with goosebumps. Terrible. He teetered over to the countertop and pushed his empty glass towards the barmaid, brow furrowing. Lukas followed behind him, chuckling.

“I thought you learned from last time to not pull a Python and take it slow.”

“If I took it slow, I would _never_ be able to finish it.”

Last time. The last time they were here, seemingly ages ago, was before they marched for the Deliverance. Back then, Forsyth swore up and down that he would _never_ return there ( _Smells of swine and tastes like armpits!_ ), but at the end of all things, with the King and Queen happily wed, the gods crumbling into nothing but memory, and a long-fought war fading into history, he somehow ended up here again. A less-than-spectacular epilogue to conclude an epic tale sprawling across two countries within a divided continent. 

In every tale Forsyth managed to swallow down as a young boy for his father’s sake, endings were always the worst. This proved to be no exception. His epic knightly conquests, over. His dream, perished alongside the gods Duma and Mila. Perhaps it was high-time to return to reading those dull texts in some stuffy library again.

Python sidled up beside him, leaning a little too hard along the counter. In the dim lighting, Forsyth could make out the pink splotches dyed onto his cheeks. 

“Why the long face? Don’t tell me I gotta call you _Horse-_ yth from now on.” He eyed the empty glass and smirked. “Lemme guess, Lukey, he did the same thing as last time.”

“Indeed.”

“Aw, Fors. _Fors._ ” Python knocked his shoulder against Forsyth’s, albeit a tad too roughly; Forsyth pushed into Lukas, who consequently spilled some of his drink along the front of his dress shirt. For his sake, they both pretended to not notice. “You _know_ what happens when you drink too fast. You get all, well, melodramatic about things. More so than usual, I mean.”

Lukas dabbed at his shirt with a spare cloth provided by the barmaid. “I would be more apt to use ‘somber.’”

“Tomato, tomahto. Point is,” he flagged down the barmaid, pointed to his own emptied glass, and gave her a wink and a silver piece when she refilled it, “you let that big forehead of yours get all filled up with nonsense, and then you’re even _less_ fun than usual. You wanna be loose _,_ not a _groose._ Especially _today,_ of all days. The big ol’ finale, remember?”

“Groose isn’t even a word,” Forsyth mumbled, pressing his forehead against the counter. Whatever drank he received, it was strong; the tavern warped and blended together, objects bleeding colors into one another. He closed his eyes. 

“We need some water,” he heard Lukas say, accompanied by the neighboring stool sliding closer to him. “Even before we arrived, you seemed somewhat less enthusiastic than usual. Something appears to be eating at you.”

Forsyth grumbled. Curse Lukas and his supreme insights on others! For someone so detached and collected, he could certainly keep track of everyone _else’s_ hang-ups. He pushed himself up off the counter and bore holes into the glass of water, pursing his lips at his own distorted reflection. 

“C’mon.” Python took another swig of his drink. “The sooner we get this conversation over with, the sooner we can make ya feel a _whole_ lot better. Don’t ya wanna feel better? Not even you are a glutton for punishment.”

“I suppose.” Forsyth sighed. He squeezed his mug a little closer. “It’s simply that being in the Deliverance was almost everything I ever wanted. It allowed me to become the knight I always dreamed to be. But now,” he shook his head, “that’s all over, isn’t it? The Deliverance is disbanded - the three of us will part ways, and start over again. But this time, we won’t necessarily be together, now will we?”

The conversation lulled. Lukas tilted his head in thought, stare vacant towards the curtained windows. Python sucked air between his teeth, cheek mushed against one hand as the other tapped idly onto the polished wood. The rapturous laughter almost sounded out of place in their pocket of contemplation; even the water tasted bitter, tainted from Forsyth’s poignant observation. 

(The good, the bad - the three of them had been through it all: furtive glances exchanged when storming Zofia Castle; marched through storms with boots filled from mire; crossed the borders into Rigel and helped Alm crush an emperor of a growing wasteland. He remembered the time where Lukas, despite better judgment, charged head-first into a plethora of mages and slayed them all with great aplomb; the time where Python, with nothing but luck on his side, pelted an armored general hiding amidst thickets to death; the time where Forsyth himself stared into the soulless eyes of a rotted dragon, spitting out sludge from between its teeth, and still somehow managed to smile. 

They’d been through it all, _together._ But now - )

Until Python chuckled and shook his head.

“That’s all? Fors.” He grinned. “Sure, things’re gonna be a little different now, but just ‘cause things are changing, it don’t mean us three gotta stop being friends.”

Lukas nodded. “We might walk different paths in life from here onward, but Python’s right. Distance and time cannot change the history we’ve shared together, or detrimentally severe our bond. If we allow that to happen,” his pensive expression shifted into a patient smile, “then we were not really comrades, in the end.”

“I mean, heck.” Python waved his hand dismissively. “Heck, who knows? We might be workin’ together for post-war clean-up or whatever. No shortage of things to do and all that. And if not? Then,” he hoisted up his glass and smirked, “we’ll have more stories to tell when we get together. Mila knows you’re just going to have _so_ much to talk about when you get knighted by His Majesty.”

Forsyth sat up a little straighter. “You really believe he will let me serve the One Kingdom as a knight?”

“You kidding? He’d be a daft fool if he _didn’t_.” He snorted. “So your those so-called dreams you’re so fascinated with aren’t gonna die. They’re gonna keep being reality.”

“If you would like,” Lukas added, “I will put in a recommendation to His Majesty as well. And I’m certain Sir Clive will be more than willing to do the same, given your exploits. Do not give up when everything has just begun.”

“Yeah, what he said. Now.” Python slid off his stool and staggered a few steps back before clapping his hand onto Forsyth’s shoulder. “Now, quit that worrying and help me drag this ginger stud into the drinking circle to sing some awful songs. We gotta celebrate like _real_ heroes.”

Lukas raised an eyebrow. “Beg pardon? Singing what now?”

“I thought that’s what the post-coronation ceremony was for.” Forsyth huffed with indignation, but his irritation lacked genuinity. Conversing about his troubles with the two actually made him feel relieved. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps what they had didn’t have to end, regardless of the potential circumstances. “You know, the same one you dragged us away from?”

“Listen, just ‘cause I said you were gonna be knighted doesn’t mean you gotta _act_ like one right now. That place was _way_ too boring and stuffy for what _we_ need.” He winked. “C’mon. Drink, sing, be merry.”

“You _know_ I can’t sing.”

“Right, right. That’s why we make Lukey do it.”

“I still haven’t agreed to this,” Lukas interjected. 

“Oh, but you will. I _know_ you. You have a sense of duty to keep the peace, right?” Python latched one arm around Lukas’s, gesturing with his head for Forsyth to grab the other. “‘Member last time you refused? _I_ led the song. And when _I_ lead the song - ”

“Gods, please, Lukas.” Forsyth squeezed his arm and tried his hand at looking desperately pathetic. “Please spare us from his depravity and his poor minstrel skills!”

“ _Hey -_ ”

Python’s retort was cut short when some rotund man stumbled into them, causing Lukas to lose his footing and cast the three backwards and onto the floor. Hay clung to their shirts as they splayed out, dazed and confused. Forsyth blinked - the overhead candles on the chandelier seemed _so_ fuzzy - before chortling. A bubbling laughter escaped him, and in its infectiousness spread to his two companions. As much as he detested to admit it, Python was right - this was much, much better than remaining rigid and formal. They needed a break from it all, a reminder of their humble beginnings, before starting all over again.

“Why - ” Lukas wheezed “ - are we even _laughing?_ ”

“I dunno! Blame it on ‘im!” Python slapped his hands over his face and wiped tears from his eyes. “But - pfft! - I can’t seem to _stop!_ ”

“You two,” Forsyth sputtered, “are going to be the death of me.”

Yet he wouldn’t have it any other way.

For now, though, as they helped each other up, as they ordered another round of drinks, and as Lukas charmed every soul in the establishment with his smooth baritone, Death would have to wait for another day. 

For now, Forsyth, at the cusp of a brighter future, had something new yet familiar to look forward to.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find more similar fire emblem nonsense at my twitter [@nayt0reprince!](https://twitter.com/nayt0reprince)


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